


Breathe

by curly184



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Episode: s01e10 Points, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-04 17:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18348671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curly184/pseuds/curly184
Summary: Eugene had naively assumed that once the war was over, he’d get a break.  But it seems the men of Easy Company are quite talented at finding trouble and causing themselves a whole array of injuries.  And the officers are just as bad.





	1. Chapter 1

Eugene feels like he has just drifted off to sleep when there is a knock at the door.

“Doc?”

He immediately recognises the voice as belonging to Lieutenant Welsh.

He groans, wondering who has got into what trouble now. Eugene had naively assumed that once the war was over, he’d get a break. But it seems the men of Easy Company are quite talented at finding trouble and causing themselves a whole array of injuries. And the officers are just as bad.

Eugene pulls on his shirt and stuffs his feet into his boots before following Welsh outside, not even bothering to ask any questions. He slings his bag over his shoulder and tries not to think of the warm, soft bed and blissful sleep he has just left behind. He can smell whisky on Welsh’s breath and the way the man weaves slightly as he walks tells Eugene that whatever calamity that has befallen someone is alcohol related. He wonders idly who it is this time. Welsh leads him out into the street where Speirs and Nixon are sitting side by side on the pavement. Speirs is propped up against a wall, Nixon holding a blood-soaked towel to the Captain’s head.

“What happened?” Eugene asks, as he crouches down beside Speirs and removes the towel. There is a nasty gash running from just above Speirs’ left temple into his hair. Fresh blood trickles down his cheek as he looked at Eugene blankly.

“He fell down some steps,” Welsh explains. “Too much to drink, you know.” He looks down at the ground guiltily. 

“Was he unconscious?” 

“For about 30 seconds,” Welsh answers.

“Any seizures?”

“No.”

Eugene smiles to himself at how quickly and confidently Welsh answers his questions about Speirs, relaying the necessary information. A far cry from the night Lieutenant Heyliger was shot and Welsh hadn’t even been able to tell Eugene how much morphine he had given to the man. Maybe Eugene’s ill-advised yelling that night hadn’t been such a bad thing after all.

Eugene rummages in his pockets for a lighter to check Speirs’ pupils. One is distinctly larger than the other. “It’s a concussion,” he says and wraps an arm around Speirs’ waist and pulls the man to his feet. Speirs struggles to keep his balance with the sudden shift in position and falls into Eugene, who braces himself against the wall with his free hand in an effort to prevent them both from falling to the ground. Keeping the two of them upright is no easy task, Speirs is bigger than Eugene, stronger too, and Eugene had overestimated how much control Speirs has over his own body.

“You okay?” he asks Speirs, who has suddenly turned deathly pale.

Speirs shake his head and groans. “Sick,” he mumbles and promptly throws up. 

Eugene doesn’t so much as flinch, he just continues to support Speirs’ weight and rubs his back. “Breathe, just breathe,” he whispers, soothingly.

Nixon appears with a canteen and offers it to Speirs. Eugene sincerely hopes it contains water, but he honestly wouldn’t put anything past Nixon and he intercepts the canteen to take a sniff. Speirs takes a couple of mouthfuls and hands the canteen back to Eugene, looking at him as though seeing him for the first time, a bewildered expression on his face, “Hey, Doc.”

“Hey, Speirs,” Eugene replies with a soft laugh. “Let’s get inside and get you cleaned up.”

He glances back towards Nixon and Welsh, “You two should probably come too.” 

They make their way to one of the houses where Eugene and Spina had set up a small aid station when they first arrived in Zell am See. Nixon and Welsh follow along behind, stumbling and singing ‘Blood upon the Risers’. Eugene thinks back to the night they spent in the convent in Rachamps and decides ‘singing’ is the wrong word.

Once inside, Eugene helps Speirs to lie down on one of the beds and fills a basin with warm water and gathers together some clean towels and bandages. He is well stocked, better than he has ever been. Ironic, since the war is now over and he has little use for most of the medical supplies stacked in front of him. What he wouldn’t have given for even a tenth of this in Bastogne.

Eugene works at cleaning up Speirs’ head. The wound isn’t particularly deep, and Eugene has learned that head wounds have a habit of bleeding all out of proportion, often looking worse than they really are. Speirs’ hair is matted with blood so Gene cleans that up too, struck by how soft the Captain’s hair feels in his fingers. He shakes his head lightly, as though trying to get rid of the thought and speaks quietly to Speirs about nothing in particular as he tries to keep the man from falling asleep. He is in for a long night; Speirs will need to stay awake for a few hours at least. Every now and then, as Eugene works at cleaning him up, Speirs grips Eugene’s arm when the dizziness he feels makes the world spin around him. Each time, Eugene holds him steady until it passes, “Breath, Speirs, just breath,” he whispers as he strokes Speirs’ arm softly.

When he finishes cleaning the blood from Speirs’ head and wraps the wound with a clean bandage, Eugene makes sure Speirs is comfortable and checks on how Nixon and Welsh are doing. They are munching their way through a pile of Hershey chocolate bars, Nixon whining that Eugene has confiscated his flask. After they have eaten more than a handful of the chocolate bars each, Gene tries to convince them to go to bed and get some sleep. Mainly because it gets them out of his way, but also because they are both going to have banging headaches in the morning. 

When the pair of them look like they are going to follow Eugene’s advice and head off to bed, he turns his attention back to Speirs. “Sir,” he says gently, placing a hand on Speirs’ shoulder. There is no response. “Captain Speirs?” he tries again, giving Speirs a gentle shake this time. “Captain? I need you to open your eyes,” he shakes Speirs a little harder and continues to speak, his voice firm, louder than usual, but despite Speirs unresponsiveness, there is no sign of panic.

“Is he okay?” Nixon asks, with a look of concern for his friend.

“He’s asleep. Not a good idea with a concussion.”

Eugene turns back to Speirs, “Captain Speirs, you have to open your eyes for me.” He shakes the man’s shoulder harder and Speirs’ eyes fly open, wide with panic. He tries to scramble off the bed, losing his balance as the ground shifts beneath his feet and he falls towards Eugene.

Eugene reaches to steady the man, “Whoa, Captain, it’s okay. It’s me, Doc.” Eugene says, placing his hands on Speirs’ shoulders in an attempt to calm him. It doesn’t work, Speirs seemingly not seeing or hearing Eugene as he pushes against him. The next moment, Eugene finds himself sprawled on the floor after Speirs’ fist makes contact with his face. Speirs is known for his physical strength, but Eugene can’t help but be surprised at the force and coordination behind the blow from the drunk, concussed captain. Eugene wipes his nose on his sleeve, noting the trail of blood left behind and the stinging sensation on his cheek. 

Welsh is crouched over him; asking if he is okay, he reaches for Welsh’s arm and pulls himself to his feet and makes his way over to Speirs, who is on all fours, trying to tell Nixon he is going to be sick again. Eugene grabs an empty bowl and rests his hand on Speirs’ shoulder, rubbing soothing circles on his back gently reassuring the Captain. Speirs retches into the bowl for a few minutes and eventually sits back, looking dazed.

“You okay, Captain?” Eugene asks, as he helps Speirs back on to the bed and hands him a cup of water. 

It takes a long moment for Speirs to seem to register his words. “What happened, Doc?”

You fell; you’ve cut your head and got a concussion. You’re gonna have to stay here with me for a while.”

Again, there is a long pause before Speirs nods in response, then seems to realise moving his head unnecessarily is a terrible idea and he squeezes his eyes shut and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes.

It’s a full hour before Eugene can convince Welsh and Nixon to go and get some sleep. Speirs’ outburst seems to have sobered them up and they are reluctant to leave them alone. When they eventually leave, Eugene spends the night trying to keep Speirs awake. It’s no easy task, like Eugene, Speirs likes the quiet and he feels uncomfortable asking the captain too many questions in an attempt to keep him talking. He can’t help but laugh at how child-like and grumpy the captain sounds, insisting he’s not sleeping, each time his eyes slip closed and Eugene tells him he can’t fall asleep. Eventually, they land on the topic of home, something Eugene hasn’t thought about for a long time. Speirs tells him stories of his life in Boston while Eugene shares a few stories about Louisiana. As the night wears on, Speirs begins talking more, with his brain needing less time to process Eugene’s questions and formulate a response. When Eugene checks his pupils again, they both react to the light evenly and he tells Speirs he can get some sleep now. He means for them to head back to their respective quarters, he will walk Speirs back and made sure he’s in bed safely and check on him in the morning. But instead, Speirs just slides further down the bed, turning on his side and closing his eyes before Eugene can say anything else.

Eugene finds a blanket and throws it over Speirs. His hand lingers on the dense muscle of Speirs’ upper arm as he takes a moment to watch the sleeping captain. Eugene has always liked Speirs. Unlike some of the other officers, Speirs recognises how precarious a situation the medics are in. They don’t carry guns, and have limited means of defending themselves or the soldiers they are trying to help. They rely on the other men in the company to keep them safe, and rely on the enemy noticing the white armband with a red cross they wear. Eugene is grateful that Speirs takes this into account when he is planning attacks or patrols, always instructing at least one soldier to stick close to the medics. 

He gives Speirs’ shoulder one last squeeze and brushes his hand through Speirs’ hair, trying to pretend to himself that he is checking the bandage is still secure. He cleans up the bloody towels and bandages and examines his nose in a mirror. He washes the dried blood from his face and notes, with a shake of his head, that he will be left with quite a bruise, possibly a black eye. Then he lies on one of the other beds and tries to get some sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Speirs sleeps for most of the next three days. Eugene checks on him regularly and is often there when Speirs wakes up. And Speirs can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment when he wakes to find Harry or Lipton hovering over him and not the dark haired medic. Winters tells him to take it easy, but after a few days the constant dizziness begins to ease up and Speirs is back on his feet, commanding Easy Company. Not that there is much commanding to do in Austria, but Speirs has never been good at sitting around doing nothing.

He finds Eugene in the aid station one afternoon. Speirs watches the medic from the doorway for a moment before he knocks lightly on the door frame, drawing Eugene’s attention away from sorting through medical supplies.

“Captain Speirs,” Eugene says, getting to his feet, “You okay? How’s your head?”

“It’s fine, Doc.” Speirs answers quietly, moving into the room towards the medic.

“Lemme see.” 

Speirs obediently sits on a wooden bench and allows Doc to examine the cut on his head. Eugene removes the bandage and runs his fingers through Speirs’ hair, parting it to get a good look at the wound.

“Healing up nicely. Just gonna clean it up.”

Speirs sits as Eugene cleans the dried blood from around the wound. His eyes are level with the medic’s chest, and Speirs finds himself admiring Eugene’s lithe body and the way the cut of his uniform hugs his frame. In Bastogne, under-fed and wearing oversized ODs, Speirs had thought of Eugene as thin, almost frail looking. But now, although he is obviously a slighter build than the rest of the men, it is clear to Speirs that the doc is almost entirely lean muscle.

Eugene doesn’t make any effort to speak to him, and Speirs appreciates the silence. Doc’s quietness is always natural and comfortable, calming. Despite trying not to, once or twice Speirs winces as Eugene cleans the wound on his head. “Sorry,” Eugene murmurs, his hands going still until he is sure Speirs is alright for him to continue.

Speirs has always liked Eugene; he has always been drawn to the man’s quiet strength. When he was platoon leader in Dog Company, he had noticed the way Easy’s medic was happy and willing to help any soldier who needed his attention, not just the men in his own company. He had once heard a couple of other medics joking that Doc Roe would help out a wounded Kraut if he came across one. Doc’s care and concern for the men around him is legendary, and it is just one of the reasons why the softly spoken medic was held in such high esteem by everyone.

After a few minutes, Eugene is satisfied and removes his hands from where they are tangled in Speirs’ hair. Oddly, Speirs feels the loss of those long fingers and cool hands.

“How’s the headache?”

“Mostly gone.”

“And the nausea? Dizziness?”

Speirs answers Eugene's questions, assuring him that his symptoms have resolved, aside from a mild headache that continues to linger.

Seeming content with Speirs’ answers, Eugene nods, then a slight frown appears on his brow when Speirs makes no effort to move. “There something else, Captain?” he asks.

Speirs gives him a small, tight smile, gesturing to Gene’s bruised cheek. “I owe you an apology, Doc.” 

It seems to take Eugene a moment to work out what Speirs is talking about, and he brushes off Speirs’ apology. “Oh, uh, don’t worry about it, sir.”

“No, Doc. I’m sorry. I’d never – I didn’t mean…” his words trail off and he stands up, looking into Eugene's soft, dark eyes. “Honestly, I don’t even remember. Harry told me. I’m sorry.”

Eugene opens his mouth to dismiss Speirs’ words again, but Speirs can’t allow Doc to brush this off. Speirs hurt him, and he would never intend to hurt him. He would never intend to hurt any of the men, despite the rumours, but knowing he has hurt the medic who gives so much of himself keeping everyone else safe and well, knowing he has hurt Eugene - who he cares about more than he should - pricks at his conscience. Speirs grabs Eugene’s sleeve and looks at him so intently that Doc seems to realise it is important to Speirs that he accept the apology. Eugene gives Speirs a small smile and Speirs knows that acknowledging the apology is as close as he will come to accepting it. As far as Eugene is concerned, Speirs has no reason to be apologising.

“It’ll teach me not to try to keep up with Nixon’s drinking,”

Eugene gives a soft laugh, “Can’t imagine that would end well for anybody, sir.”

Speirs watches the medic for a long moment, taking in his dark eyes, and serious expression, eyebrows drawn together in a slight frown, lips pressed together. He looks at the purple bruise on Eugene’s cheek. According to Harry, blood had poured from Eugene’s nose after Speirs had hit him, but it didn’t stop the medic getting up off the floor and continuing to tend to Speirs, reassuring him and settling him back on the bed. Speirs doesn’t remember much about the other night, he doesn’t remember falling, and he doesn’t remember coming round to Nixon and Welsh leaning over him. He does remember Doc, with his gentle words and calming, solid presence when Speirs’ head spun and the ground shifted beneath him, making him feel like he was falling.

Speirs takes a step closer to Eugene and reaches up to cup cheek in his hand. Eugene grimaces slightly when Speirs runs his thumb lightly over the bruise, but doesn’t back away. They stare at each other and then Speirs wraps his arm around Eugene’s neck, pulling him in closer, pressing his lips to the medic’s thin lips and Eugene goes completely still. “Breathe, Doc, just breathe,” Speirs whispers, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he kisses his way along Doc’s jawline. Then Speirs feels his breath catch in his throat when Eugene steps in closer, wrapping his arms around Speirs’ waist, pressing his hands into the small of his back. Eugene’s lips find Speirs’ and he kisses him, long and hard and deep and Speirs can’t help but moan into Eugene’s mouth.

If Speirs had ever let this scenario play out in his mind before – and he has, on more than one occasion – he imagined that he would be taking the lead, coaxing Eugene into go along with him. He didn’t expect the medic to meet his advances with such hunger and lust, didn’t expect to find himself moaning and pressing against Eugene’s slim body, wanting more. Speirs pushes Eugene back against the wall and kisses him harder; he tugs at Eugene’s shirt, trying to get access to his bare skin. He splays a hand across Eugene’s back and pulls the smaller man closer, Eugene runs his hand up Speirs’ back and through his hair, making these soft noises that just about drive Speirs wild.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time, Eugene.” Speirs says in a low whisper, when they finally break apart, both breathless. He runs his thumb over Eugene’s bruised cheek again before leaning in to kiss him again, but they are interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

“Speirs? You in here?” Nixon calls.

“Yeah,” Speirs answers, stepping back from Eugene. He lifts a box of bandages down off a nearby shelf and shoves it towards Eugene just as Nixon comes into the room. It’s supposed to hide Doc’s rumpled shirt, but Nixon isn’t the Intelligence Officer for nothing and he looks between the two of them with an unmistakable smirk on his face.

“Harry’s waiting,” he tells Speirs, before walking back through the door, still smirking.

Speirs stares at Eugene for a long moment and then moves to follow Nixon out of the room.

“C-captain?” Eugene calls after him, still holding the box, which is doing nothing to hide his creased shirt and even less to hide his kiss-red lips and blushing cheeks.

Speirs turns at the doorway, looking back at the medic.

“I wanna check that wound again in a couple of days.”

Speirs, having regained his composure, doesn’t react, just continues to study Eugene from the doorway. Speirs watches as the man begins to falter under his steady gaze, doubt and confusion creeping into his dark eyes. “Or Spina, if you’d prefer. But either way, sir.”

Speirs’ face breaks out in a grin, “I’ll find you, Doc.”


End file.
